Honey Poem by Valentine Cinnamon

The coolness of night fell in sheets;
revealing a ballet of pleats
of citrus-coloured light.

From mild windows spilling rays of calcite,
sit fragile bottles set alight
by thin beams of glowing amber.

By morn the sun had golden strings,
connecting Helios to our springs
of icy cold November.

The frosted air,
the foaming sea,
the aeolian of ecstasy,
rushes through iced chambers
to greet those who taste this ambrosian nectar.